


Untitled

by CoIiver



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoIiver/pseuds/CoIiver





	Untitled

He didn’t know Asher was being serious when he half-heartedly agreed to join in with the bet between himself and the other four members of the Keating 5. It wasn’t his fault, though; it was extremely rare when the eldest of the group was ever serious, or carried out a threat set. He could not count the amount of times which a ‘bet’ had fallen through during the years they’d been in university together. So, understandably, Connor had managed to lull himself into a false sense of security whenever he saw his group of friends writing down their names on a sheet of paper.

However, it was just Connor’s luck that Millstone was not joking this time, especially when the consequences of losing was something Connor hated the most - dancing. There was just something about his body that resented any movement to a beat - along with his two left feet. He blamed his father for that; it was a fact that none of the Walsh men could dance to save their lives. Whenever they were invited to the annual family get-together, both himself and his dad stayed clear of the dance floor - saving themselves and everyone in the vicinity the crippling embarrassment as they tried their very best to get their arms to do something vaguely graceful. Connor wouldn’t have been as annoyed if the inability to dance had run through the bloodline, but everyone on his mother’s family tree could have been classed as downright professionals in the twenty-five year old’s eyes.

“This is stupid,” he had complained as they turned up to the dance studio. To make matters worse, Laurel - the person who had booked the dance session - had not told anyone what kind of torture Connor was about to endure for the next handful of hours. Connor thought this was incredibly unfair; if he was the one being made to do it, he believed that he had a right to choose whichever method of humiliation he wanted.

Laurel, true to herself, ignored Connor’s complaints and parked her car in an empty space.

The dance studio was less than fifteen minutes from the campus, but as an extra bonus to the punishment, it was stated that the loser had to be driven there - ensuring that they would arrive, unable to escape when they were told what was about to happen. It made sense, but Connor didn’t agree with it at all. He wished he could’ve been anywhere else but there. He really did not want to show his dread, knowing it would only boost Asher’s ever expanding ego.

“Get out, then,” Laurel prompted, as she reached over and threw the draw-string bag onto his lap. “Your class starts in half an hour, and you still need to change.” Connor groaned. “I’ve put everything you need in there, so don’t worry about that.” She smiled at him, far too sweetly for his liking.

He paused for a second, examining Laurel. “How did you know my size?” he questioned, pulling out a pair of loose grey sweatpants from the bag. Surprisingly enough, they were exactly his waist size. “Have you been looking in my wardrobe, Castillo?”

“No,” she replied, bluntly. “You look like the same size as Wes. I went from his trousers. And I’m not wrong, am I?”

Connor hated how she wasn’t. It must have been a skill that she knew _everything_. He honestly had no idea how she managed it, and he didn’t want to understand - there was probably some illuminati network behind her knowledge. 

He felt Laurel push on his back when he hadn’t moved. “Don’t be late,” she warned. 

“But what if I get lost?” It was a reach; both he and Laurel could see the clearly signposted reception. The only possible way in which he could get lost was if he closed his eyes and walked in the opposite direction, which he knew his friend wouldn’t allow in her lifetime.

There was no point arguing anymore; he knew that it was useless. Swallowing his pride, he opened the car door, and stood on the tarmac. The building looked a lot more intimidating when he was directly in front of it. It was probably the windows - there were so many of them, each giving tiny glimpses of classes and rehearsals going on within.

As he was taking in the view, he heard the sound of a camera shutter. Confused, he turned around to look at Laurel. He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly questioning the need of a picture taken of his back.

“For proof,” she clarified. 

“And blackmail?”

“And blackmail,” she agreed, smirking. “I’m going to go now. Have fun, be nice. I’ll be back at five this afternoon.”

Connor could tell that he’d be waiting around for hours after - there was no possible way that a lesson - or his will to live - would exceed six hours. However, before he could bring this fact up to her, Laurel was already reversing out of the car park, waving at him as she left.

He sighed, knowing that he had to get it over an done with sooner or later.

***

Connor changed in record time, not wanting to stand around in a dressing room full of experienced-looking dancers. He could tell they were eyeing him up and down, trying their best to work out what he was doing there - it was obvious he didn’t truly belong among them. Unlike the others around him, he had lost the twink-like body shape years ago; it was clear that he would struggle with the upcoming lesson.

From the entrance, someone called them over, reading off a list. Connor cursed as his name was called, along with the four men and two women. He let them go first, checking out his competition before they had to stand in the brightly lit studio. It was only then when he realised he was horribly overdressed. Unlike his fellow classmates, he was not in a tight fitting leotard or shorts. No, he looked as if he was about to sit in front of the television to marathon LGBT films on Netflix with way too much Chinese food - something he wished he was doing at that very moment.

But he couldn’t get out of it now.

He was the last one standing in the empty room, blankly gazing around the space. He was only brought back down to earth when the guy from the door coughed, snapping Connor harshly back into reality. 

“Coming,” he said, smiling weakly. He knew he couldn’t put it off much longer, although he would have preferred to walk on hot coals than go into the opposite room.

The man was still at the door, holding it open, and offering him weirdly encouraging glances.

Nodding to himself, and taking a deep breath, Connor shuffled out of the changing room and into the dance studio.

***

The group of people who’d walked in before him had already started on warming up. He observed the girls as they laughed and did some complicated stretching technique. Connor couldn’t work out how it was humanly possible to get your body to bend in such ways; merely looking at the women made the backs of his thighs ache.

Deciding that the warmups going on around him were miles out of his ability, he set to work on doing a pose he’d seen in some teenage movie Micheala had made them sit through one summer. He couldn’t remember much of it - mainly because he fell asleep fifteen minutes into it - but he tried his best to keep to himself, as well as keeping all the attention far from his awkward movements.

He knew he looked pathetic as he tried his very best to touch his toes, but only managing to go past his knees before his body started rejecting the strain. He quickly though that it would be useless - he’d have to pull a muscle and suffer the consequences later on in the day. He knew it would be fine, he’d been through worse pain than the occasional ache in a part of his body. Besides, he could use it as an excuse to stay in bed all day and do nothing with his life for a couple of hours. Well, it would be fine if none of his friends saw him in a bedridden state - that would only make their gloating even greater.

“Giving up, are we?” a voice came from behind him, making Connor nearly fall forwards. He knew that voice - it was the guy who must have been teaching the class for that day. Cringing a little, Connor turned around to face him, hoping that the stranger hadn’t seen his embarrassing trip.

Connor looked at the man properly. If he was being honest, he wouldn’t have put the man in front of him down as a professional dancer. Maybe it was something about his glasses, or the way he held himself that made Connor doubt whether this was the man’s only job. Still, Connor made sure he wouldn’t mention it, despite himself feeling he was about to say something stupid. Luckily, before he could say a word, the teacher spoke first. 

“Connor, right?” he asked, smiling pleasantly - a genuine smile, too, something Connor wasn’t totally used to. When he nodded, giving the man his warmest look. “I’m Oliver, and I’ll be teaching the class today.” He paused, and Connor swore he saw Oliver blush a little. “If you haven’t guessed already. Anyway, we’re about to do some group stretches if you’d like to join us.”

“Am I really that awful at the basics?” Connor questioned, laughing as he saw the instructor shake his head and walk over to the front of the room.

He knew he couldn’t get out of it now, especially since Oliver had requested for him to join everyone else. 

Muttering to himself, he shuffled towards an empty space on the floor.

***

As he expected, the first half of the session was incredibly awkward, although his inability to dance meant that Oliver had to assist him more than most. It turned out that Oliver was more than  just an instructor. Working in the studio was a part-time job for him, giving him enough money to get through college as he studied for his Computer Science degree. 

It felt like a decade had passed before Oliver called out for a break. They had been dancing - or in Connor’s case, following along as best as he could but spending more than half of the time sitting on the benches around the side of the room. He preferred watching the professionals do what they did best; he could appreciate them all from a distance instead of constantly being in the way.

Oliver waved him over, gesturing towards the exit. Connor got up from the chair - probably too eagerly - and went to stand next to the older man.

“We have an hour break for lunch,” he said, picking up his water bottle and jacket from the floor, not looking at Connor directly. “Most of the others go off and do their own thing now, but I guess you don’t have anywhere to go.”

Connor shrugged. He guessed he didn’t have anywhere else better to be. He knew there was still a handful of hours left before someone came to collect him, and he didn’t fancy the idea of sitting alone in a deserted room for sixty minutes either. “Do they have a canteen or something here?” Connor asked, pushing some of his hair out of his face.

“They do, but it’s not great. There’s another one just down the road. It’s pretty out of the way, so it’s hardly ever full.”

“Sounds great,” Connor said. “Lead the way.”

Oliver ducked his head, almost shyly, and went through the door, turning around to double check that Connor was definitely following him into the dressing rooms. When he was sure the other man was, he continued walking, not bothering to change out of his crumpled gym clothes.

***

Oliver wasn’t lying when he had said the cafe was out of the way. Connor was certain that he would have completely missed the sign hanging above the door if he wasn’t following Oliver’s every move.

Connor pushed the door open into the reasonably small seating area. It was obviously an independent coffee shop as none of the furniture matched and the walls were lined with fairly random pictures of children and cats.

Cute, he thought as he went to sit at one of the tables closest to the bay windows. It was at that moment he realised Oliver was still near the door, talking to an elderly man. They looked as if they were deep in conversation, chuckling about something Connor had no hope in hearing. He let the two men talk as he scanned the menu. There wasn’t the biggest selections of items on there, but he couldn’t complain as it was a lot cheaper than the chain stores on campus.

The sound of someone pulling up a chair next to his brought Connor’s focus back on the real world. “Sorry,” Oliver apologised, sitting across from Connor with his own menu. “That’s Gregory.” He pointed back to the counter where the old man was standing, examining one of the teapots on the back shelf.

“An old friend?” he asked, looking up at Oliver.

“He was the first person I met when I came over from California about five years ago,” he explained, his eyes still fixed on the printed text. “Then we stayed in touch. And it’s nice because he gives me discounts on the drinks here, which is never a bad thing for a student struggling with money.”

“That’s nice,” Connor said. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again “You’re studying Computer Science, right?” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so interested in Oliver’s life, usually he would have only made polite conversation with a stranger if he really had to, but there was something oddly fascinating about the man sitting in front of him. “So, have you always been into dance? Because computers and whatever I was doing in that class aren’t the most linked things in the world.”

Oliver laughed, shaking his head. “You mean what you were _attempting_?” He grinned. Connor hushed him, rolling his eyes at the comment. He would have been offended if it wasn’t so true - like he had said before, the Walsh men were not known for rhythm or synchronised movement. “It started off as a hobby when I was younger. My mom made me do it at first, saying that it was good to get out of the house for once. She was always so worried about me developing some permanent damage from being on my computer all day. Or hacking into the FBI -  whichever came first.”

“That’s mothers for you,” Connor laughed. “But hey, at least it worked out all right for you.”

“True,” Oliver said, finally putting the menu on the table and lacing his fingers together. “I’ve met some great friends through it, too. Maybe you should consider taking it up seriously. I can see that you have hidden potential, as long as you remember the basic moves.”

“No, never going to happen,” Connor said, quickly. No matter how charming - and almost flirtatious - Oliver was being, he wasn’t going to be conned into attending another session after the day was up. He’d already had enough, and despite sitting on the side for most of the time, his body had started to ache in strange places. “I’m only here because I lost a bet with some of my classmates in Middleton Law. Stupid, I know.”

Oliver gave him a pitying look as he saw Connor try his best to discreetly massage a kink out of his neck. “What was the bet?” he asked. “It must have been a bad one for them to pay for this class - it’s definitely not the cheapest thing they could’ve opted for.”

Connor groaned. Saying it out loud made the whole situation ten times worse. It wasn’t the conditions of the bet that made in somewhat embarrassing, but the grounds on how he’d managed to lose it. If he was doing it properly, he was sure he wouldn’t have been forced to dance his heart out for more hours than he cared to think about.

“It was to win a case,” he said, lowing his gaze to the tabletop. “A fake one, so don’t get mad and think that we did this to a real person. But yeah, I didn’t know Asher was being serious this time so I forgot about it. Well, that was until it came to the day and everyone else had a stack of notes and I didn’t. And… that’s the short and boring story of how I ended up here.” He paused, looking around the room and then back at Oliver. “Which, honestly, isn’t as bad as I thought it could have been. I was expecting to be stuck in a room full of ballerinas and forced to wear a tutu.”

Oliver snorted. “That’s coming up in the second part of the class. I think we have ballet shoes in your size, as well as a sparkly leotard. You’re going to look incredible, don’t you worry.” Connor instantly paled, making Oliver laugh harder. “I’m kidding! I don’t do ballet much now; I mainly stick to freestyle. It’s much easier than getting yourself to balance on your toes - and believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You did ballet?” Connor questioned, imagining Oliver in whatever they made male ballerinas wear. In his mind, he was sure Oliver could have easily pulled it off.

“Let’s just say I got some strange looks - and horrible comments - in my high school when that fact got leaked. But it was fun, and a beautiful form of dance, but just not for me. I dropped it when I was eighteen and never really looked back.”

Before Connor could comment anymore, Gregory made his way over to the table, pen and paper in his hand. “Anything I can get for you boys?” Oliver ordered what Connor presumed was his usual drink, and Connor asked for the same thing, too - it was so much easier to get identical things as the person with you; it offered less chances to be judged for unique preferences. 

They made small talk as they waited for their coffees to arrive. In the short time they were talking, Connor managed to learn that Oliver had left his family back in California to study in Philadelphia, saying that they ran one of the best courses in the country. Obviously, Connor had no idea about that - he thought Philadelphia was only known for the law university and Professor Keating’s infamous teaching style. Oliver also said he lived a few miles away from his campus, saying that the rent for apartments was far too high near the school. When Connor gave him a sympathetic look, knowing that the four mile round trip wouldn’t have been the most ideal for early morning classes, Oliver just shrugged. “It’s good for me, otherwise I’d never get any exercise.”

“But you dance,” Connor reminded him. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I only do that once a week, unfortunately. I wish I was able to work more, but my timetable and workload doesn’t allow it.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “You don’t practise? Too good are we, Mr. Professional?”

“Shut up,” he laughed. “I usually only teach kids and that’s easy. They don’t know much about dancing to correct you, and even if they do, you can tell them its another way of doing it. They hardly ever question me.”

“Stop corrupting America’s youth with your phoney dance routines,” Connor gasped, faking outrage. “It’s people like you who are ruining society.”

The cafe owner came over to their table, a tray of drinks and something else he was certain they didn’t order. When the man was close enough, Connor worked out that it was some kind of cake. He didn’t question it, unsure if this was a common occurrence in smaller businesses.

Oliver thanked Gregory, taking both his and Connor’s mugs off the tray and putting them down in front of them. “Were these cakes baked by your wife?” Oliver asked, picking up the two small plates.

“Fresh this morning,” the elderly man smiled. “Martha wanted you two to be the first to try it. She’s working on a new recipe. Something to do with adding vegetables into cakes? It’s all very modern for me,” he laughed. “I liked it back in the good old days where cake was cake, and there were no fancy added bits. But, you know my wife. She’s always trying to keep up with trends and whatnot.”

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” Oliver reassured him. “Tell Martha I say hi and send my best wishes to her sister.”

“Will do,” Gregory said, nodding as he walked through the mess of chairs and tables to return to the kitchen area.

“They’re like your second family,” Connor said, watching the man as he went through the door.

“Yeah, they are. Both him and his wife are nice people. They’ve definitely helped me through some of the rougher homesickness moments I had when I first moved.”

They continued to talk as they ate the cake - which was a lot better than Connor was expecting by its first appearance.

It was nice to sit and relax with another person, without talking about whatever was going on in class. It was a normal conversation - no talking about endless amounts of court cases or miscarriages of justice. Sometimes Connor missed how simple it was to listen to another person speak about meaningless topics for as long as they wanted.

***

They were half way through their third drink and countless slice of cake when Oliver checked his phone. Connor looked up when he heard the man let out a quiet gasp, confused at the sound.

“What?” Connor asked, checking his own phone. It was way past the time Oliver had agreed for everyone to meet back at the studio, and Connor knew that the instructor was always there a couple of minutes early to set up correctly. 

“Shit,” Oliver muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He took out a handful of money, and half walked half ran to the register. Gregory wasn’t there, but that didn’t bother Oliver - he just put the money on the side, and beckoned for Connor to follow him.

Taking the hint that they were incredibly late, Connor shovelled cake into his mouth and jogged out of the cafe.

Oliver was already turning the corner by the time Connor had made it out onto the main road. He called out to Oliver, hoping that he’d slow down a little. Although he kind of knew his way, he didn’t want to risk getting lost - all his possessions were back in that building.

“Oliver, slow down!” he shouted, hoping that it would do something.

“Can’t,” he replied, running full sprint down the adjoining road. “I’ll wait for you outside the entrance, okay? See you there.” And with that, he turned the corner and went out of sight.

This was when Connor regretted dropping his short-lived athletics career in high school, as well as that final bit of cake.

***

Oliver was leaning against the doorframe when Connor finally arrived. He was obviously stressed that he was late, but it was nice that he still waited despite Connor’s painfully slow speed.

As Connor approached him, he tried not to look as if he’d been struggling up the small hill in the final part of the run. It wasn’t fair how Oliver still looked perfect, even after he’d ran a lot faster, and Connor probably resembled a windswept, panting rat.

“Don’t tell me you run track as well as everything else,” Connor said, sounding way more desperate than he intended it to be.

“I wish,” Oliver said, pushing the door open properly, and walking into the reception area. They strolled towards one of the entrances into the changing rooms, Oliver waving at a women who passed them quickly. “Dancing isn’t _that_ easy,” he reminded Connor, laughing slightly. 

Connor rolled his eyes.

The studio was packed with people, everyone was in their small groups again and talking among themselves. It was obvious that Oliver didn’t have any need to worry about being as late as he was; the students hadn’t started to rise up against him or burnt anything down. Thinking about it, Connor started to wonder if the instructor’s reaction to being fifteen minutes late could have been on the extreme side. But, knowing the comment wouldn’t have been the most useful to Oliver, Connor kept his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Oliver said to the twenty or so people in the room. “Sorry about being a little late. I lost track of time. I’m glad to see everyone  - as well as some new faces - have made it back for the second session. Like most of you guys know, we change the style of dance we’re doing in the final half.” 

It seemed as if it was common knowledge with the rest of the group - everyone apart from Connor who was taken aback by the news.

“I need every single one of you to take part in it, alright? That includes you at the back, Connor. You can’t get out of it that easily.”

“Do I have to?” Connor whined. He would have much rather sat on the bench for the next two and a half hours and watch the others.

“Stop complaining and get up here,” one of the students snapped, looking directly at Connor. He was certain he could see pure hatred in the young woman’s eyes at that exact moment. “You’re in this class for a reason, now get over yourself and join in.”

Fortunately, before Connor could retaliate, Oliver stepped in. “Be nice, Melanie,” he warned.

“You’re letting him sit out on ninety percent of the class!” she shouted, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Connor even more. “You never let anyone else do that. You would let him get away with murder just because you think he’s cute.”

“You think-“ Connor said, surprised. However, before he could say anything else, Oliver called the girl over to the corner of the room, obviously flustered at the comment. Everyone stopped talking to try and eavesdrop on the conversation, but the two of them were too far from the group for anyone to make out a single word.

Connor, still sitting down, let himself think about what Melanie had said. He was sure she only said it to get on Oliver’s nerves, but it must have hit some kind of truth to get that reaction from the man. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to be complimented by any gender - he knew he wasn’t ugly, but it felt different when it came - indirectly - from someone he’d spent a couple of hours with. It felt nice? Probably. 

He tried not to dwell on too much about it, but he knew it would be playing around in the back of his mind for the remainder of the day.

It must have been a good ten minutes before Oliver came back to his original position, this time without the girl by his side. Someone questioned her timely absence, but Oliver merely shrugged. It was clear he didn’t want to be asked about it more when he went back into his usual teaching mode.

“So,” he started, looking around the room to see if everyone was paying attention. Oliver seemed to have regained his composure in the time he had spent away from the students. “As I said before, we’re changing the style now. And, yes, everyone _does_ have to partake in this one. Come on, Mr. Walsh.” 

He knew he couldn’t say no for the second time - arguing with anyone would be futile. He gave Oliver a pained smile as he got up and walked to stand next to one of the male dancers. 

Oliver went to one of the mirrors with a barre across it. Connor felt his stomach drop. He could tell what was going to be said next. “I haven’t done this in a while, so be nice to me. I only recently got the idea - that’s why I was late. I had to plan something for you guys,” he lied effortlessly.

The man next to Connor muttered something to his friend on the right, both speculating about what it could be. Connor hated that he already knew what was coming up - he thought it would have been stupidly clear, but no one else had seemed to catch on.

“How is everyones ballet level?” he asked. A couple of people said they had done it once before, but never tried again; someone else shouted out that they played a background swan in _Swan Lake_ when they were seven, making a few of the dancers chuckle when the person in question attempted to recreate the short sequence they were given years ago.

When the class had settled down, Oliver asked for a volunteer to come and help him demonstrate a basic ballet move they had to do with a partner. “Don’t all rush at once,” Oliver joked when everyone stayed firmly in their spots. “I’ll have to do this like school then. Connor, come to the front, will you.”

“No,” Connor replied, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. He couldn’t be made to do anything against his will - not now that he was twenty-five instead of thirteen. No one, apart from Annalise, had that kind of power over him anymore. 

It was either a trick of the light, or his mind making him see weird things, but Connor was sure he saw Oliver pout. 

“God. Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

The regret was almost instant, but he didn’t want anyone else seeing the horror on his face when he walked in front of the class. He gave Oliver a calm smile as he started to talk about what they were about to do. It was unfair, Oliver _knew_ he didn’t know a thing about ballet - they had literally talked about it not even an hour ago.

“I hate you,” Connor whispered, making sure only Oliver could hear. 

Oliver laughed, grinning. “You don’t.”

He positioned Connor to face him, his left hand on the wooden barre. “We’ll do something simple, okay?” he said, addressing the class. “Pick a partner and then stand near a barre. Make sure you have enough space, too.”

The class moved, pairing themselves off in twos efficiently. When everyone was ready, their attention was back on Connor and Oliver. Expectant and curious eyes gazed at the pair of them, probably waiting for Connor to mess up or leave the room.

Connor gave Oliver the most fake smile he could muster. It was a challenge, and he wasn’t going to back down from it that quickly.

“Everyone get into first position,” Oliver said, putting his heels together and his feet pointing in opposite directions. Connor copied, looking down at the other man’s feet. “Great,” he said, enthusiastically.   “Now, you and your partner need to lift your right arm above your head at the same time. On the count of three, we’ll do that.”

Oliver made it seem super basic when he was talking, but it only got harder and harder as it went. It didn’t help that everyone was looking at Oliver for their next step. Connor was dreading that they’d have to hold the other person up in the air. He wasn’t strong enough to do that. It would end catastrophically if he attempted it - and he didn’t feel like Oliver could hold up his body weight either.

Whenever he could, he gave Oliver the saddest look, hoping to invoke any kind of pity from him as Connor struggled with the increasingly complex moves and positions. 

Oliver was a good teacher, though. Every so often he went out into the class to correct someones posture, or where their arm happened to be. Whenever he did this, it gave Connor a couple of seconds to watch him walk around and laugh with the other people - it was more interesting than the dismal attempt of ballet he was doing.

“We’re going to take it up a level,” Oliver announced, looking directly at Connor, his eyebrow raised. Unsurprisingly, everyone else seemed to be excited about the increased difficulty - it seemed that the dancers enjoyed a challenge.

Connor felt himself cringe, but he couldn’t stop it now. He knew the next ninety minutes were going to be the most embarrassing of his life.

***

He could not have felt happier than he did when Oliver told them that it was time to pack up. They had been dancing - or in Connor’s case, humiliating himself - for longer than the class was meant to be, meaning that it was quickly approaching four thirty. He still had half an hour before Laurel was coming to rescue him from his personal Hell, but he was sure Oliver would stay for a while longer if he asked politely. 

Oliver was putting his shoes on when Connor spotted him. He went over, sitting next to the other man, sighing heavily. “My body aches because of you,” he said, rubbing his shoulder blade.

“Aw,” Oliver mocked. “It wasn’t that bad; we hardly did anything. You should come to next week’s session - we’re doing breakdancing.”

Connor snorted. “Thanks but no thanks. I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that. Plus, I’m sure that would ruin me even more.”

“You’d be amazing. You know that,” Oliver said, tying his shoelace. Connor couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he knew that he would be far from what Oliver would class as amazing. He’d watched Street Dance with Asher once, and the idea of throwing his body onto the ground and twisting everywhere made his blood run cold with fear. “I’m not trying to be rude,” he said, looking up at Connor. “But I thought you’d be the first one out the moment I said it was over. What’s making you stay?”

“I’m not being picked up until five,” he admitted. “However, talking to you isn’t awful, you know. Besides, you think I’m cute, so it would be rude not to give you my number.” It was a long shot, but Connor thought it was worth the try.

Oliver’s cheeks went bright pink. “She didn’t- I don’t,” he stammered, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t think it’s allowed?” he said, sounding unsure.

“Don’t take this personally, but I’m not coming back. I don’t think they’d care if you stayed in contact with an old student,” Connor smiled, getting his phone out of his pocket. “You don’t have to text me back if you don’t want to.” He reached for Oliver’s phone, putting his number and number in the man’s contacts. “There. Now it’s your choice.” Connor stood up, forcing himself not to look back. “See you, Ollie,” he said, pushing the doors open, leaving Oliver in the studio alone.

***

Laurel was waiting for him when he left the reception area. She looked bored, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

“You’re early,” Connor stated, getting into the passenger seat.

“No, you're late,” Laurel corrected him. “What took you so long?” she asked, putting the car into drive.

“Talking to someone,” he smirked, opting to gaze out of the window instead of looking at his friend.

Laurel made a disgusted noise. “You couldn’t have manage to pick up one of the dancers when you were there. How is that possible? We sent you there to suffer, not to find tonight’s latest hookup.” She turned right, driving up the road towards the campus, muttering to herself.

“No, I didn’t pick up any dancers. They weren’t my type,” he said, quickly checking his phone. “Too twinky for me. I was talking about the instructor - he thought I was cute. I may as well follow up on it.”

She glanced at Connor, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe he was just taking pity on you. You know, when you repeatedly embarrassed yourself in front of twenty or more people. Or, maybe, he meant ‘cute’ as in anyone seeing a kitten - weak and defenceless. Not everyone’s hitting on you, Walsh.”

“Whatever,” he said, ignoring her as his phone bleeped. “Oh, that’s him. Guess he didn’t think I was oh-so helpless, did he?”

He unlocked his phone, saving the unknown number before he read the text. Somehow, Oliver had made himself seem ten times more awkward in the message than he had in person. It was a short text, saying that it was his phone number and something else pretty irrelevant. It was sweet, really, Connor thought as he replied.

“Aren’t you going to read it to me?” Laurel asked, not caring if she heard it or not. “If you don’t, I’m going to have to presume you’re sexting next to me in my car which is incredibly weird.”

“Sexting is going to wait until later, Castillo.” 

“You repulse me. Luckily, we’re here. Get out. I’m sure Michaela will want to hear all about your not so dancing orientated lesson,” she said, switching the engine off. “Also, you smell like somethings died on you. Didn’t they have showers there?”

“I didn’t bring a towel,” Connor replied, grabbing his bag and opening the door. “Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted you sitting in the car for an extra fifteen minutes. What kind of friend would I be if I made you do that?”

“One that doesn’t make my car smell like a sewer,” she suggested. Connor didn’t reply, he was too busy replying to Oliver’s text. “Okay, bye then,” Laurel called out as he walked up the path towards his apartment. He gave her a halfhearted wave, knowing that she was going to meet Micheala, Asher and Wes to fill them in with Connor’s brief description of his dance class.

***

Connor sat down on the edge of his bed, kicking off his shoes as he waited for Oliver to reply. He had mentioned them going back to the cafe they visited for their lunch, saying it would be better to go there when they had more time to relax instead of being pressured to get elsewhere within an hour. He made it seem more casual than directly asking him out, but that still didn’t stop the anxiety seeping in when Oliver’s replies became slower.

He considered taking it back, saying that it didn’t matter and they should both forget about it. But, thankfully, Oliver replied saying he’d love to.

Connor smiled at his phone, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl getting a message from their high school crush. He was glad he lived alone - no one else could see him grinning at his phone as a couple more messages from Oliver popped up on his phone. 

“ _Are you free on Tuesday @ 1pm? :)_ ” Oliver typed. 

Connor knew he had no plans on that day; it was the day they had off as individual study time, allotted for them to do extra reading, but he was sure half of the class used it to recover from the parties held the night before.

“ _I’m free_ ,” Connor replied, adding a heart emoji in a separate message.

Someone knocking on the door brought him back into the real world. He put his phone down, and went to answer it. He knew he wasn’t expecting anyone, and all he wanted to do was get into bed and continue his text conversation with Oliver.

“Let me in, Walshy,” Asher called from the other side of the room, pounding it harder. “I want to hear about this hot date you have planned!”

Connor opened the door before Asher could abuse it anymore. He had a reasonable relationship with his neighbours, and didn’t want it ruined by an overenthusiastic frat boy trying to break into his apartment. 

“It’s not a date,” Connor said instinctively.

“Sure thing, bro,” Asher laughed, ruffling Connor’s hair as he walked by. “Is he taking you anywhere nice? Do you need to get your hair and make up done? Should we go shopping to get you that perfect outfit that’ll knock him off his feet?” He made himself comfortable on Connor’s sofa, looking up at him expectantly.

“It’s nothing much,” he replied, sitting down next to Asher. “It’s only to the place where we went for lunch today.” Connor despised himself mentioning it the moment the words passed his lips.

Asher’s face instantly lit up hearing the new information. “You’ve already been out with him? You work fast, man. Got any tips for a friend?” When Connor didn’t answer, Asher nudged him with his foot. “Trust you to pick up the hot dance teacher dude when you were sent there to do something you hated.”

“Perhaps if you don’t try as hard to chat up the first girl who looks like Bonnie you could get further than being rejected within half an hour,” he suggested, leaning back against the cushions, closing his eyes. His body was now realising how tired he was, he wasn’t used to that amount of strenuous exercise in such a short space of time - it was something he should be getting used to, as long as it didn’t involve studios, loud music and people in leotards. 

“Okay, firstly, that’s not true,” Asher protested. “Also your phone is ringing. I bet it’s Oliver, or another one of your nameless sexfriends. Hey, what will you do with those guys in your queue waiting to sleep with you now that you’re going monogamous? You’re gonna break their hearts, Walsh.”

“Shut up,” Connor complained, forcing himself to get up to answer the phone. He managed to get there just before the final ring, picking it up and hearing a rather shy Oliver on the other end of the line.

“Hey,” Connor said, lying down on his bed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine- good,” he replied. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you like this. You didn’t reply to my message-“ He stopped before he could finish his sentence. “Ah, that sounds really clingy. Sorry. I’ll go now.”

“No,” Connor said, fast enough that he heard Asher’s badly hidden laugh from the other room. “I was going to reply but it turns out people love to come and ruin my night.” He looked in Asher’s direction, but the comment didn’t effect the other man. “I’ll definitely see you on Tuesday. We’re meeting at the studio, right?”

“Yup,” Oliver replied. It was obvious he was smiling - Connor could hear it in his voice. “I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“Bye,” Connor said, ending the call.

“You sound like a teenager,” Asher remarked, laughing at his own joke. “But I should let you sleep. You have a big day tomorrow, Con.” He got up from the seat, pulling Connor into a bone crushing embrace.

“Why? What’s going on tomorrow?” he asked, hesitantly. 

Asher stepped back, smiling brightly at him. “You’re going to have all of this again. But worse. I’m sure Micheala wants to know every single detail of how you met your soulmate at a dance lesson that I set up. It sounds like a Disney film plot, doesn’t it?”

Connor was almost certain that no one wanted to hear about something so insignificant. Also, he wasn’t sure how Asher had come to the conclusion that Oliver was his soulmate - he’d only known the other man for six hours; he’d barely call them acquaintances at that very moment.

Asher said something else to him, but at this point Connor had decided that nothing of importance was going to come out of his mouth. He nodded a few times, then walked Asher to the door, making sure it was locked when he saw Millstone making his way down the flight of stairs.

He went back to lie on his bed, bringing the blankets up around himself. He reached for his phone, replying to the unread message from Oliver. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was excited to meet up with the other man again. Even in the short time they’d had together, he could tell Oliver was extremely interesting and probably had more stories about dance mishaps occurring over the years he had been in the profession. 

As he carried on texting Oliver, Connor thought about Asher’s remark on soulmates, laughing softly to himself. Although he didn’t believe in the concept, he wouldn’t be too fussed if Oliver turned out to be his one true love - he could easily think of less suitable people to be with for the rest of his life.

Perhaps losing the bet wasn’t the worst thing that had happened in his life, he thought as he felt himself fall asleep. He didn’t know what the time ahead held for himself and Oliver - maybe it would turn out to be nothing more than a fling, or it could end up with the two of them getting married and watching their children play happily in the garden on a late summer’s evening. However, Connor didn’t know - no one would truly find out until it was the right time, but he hoped the content feeling settling in his stomach was a sign that something in his life was about to change for the better.


End file.
